Killing Time
by anyadoll
Summary: A trip to New York, vacation, two friends, what could go wrong...
1. The Conscience Never Fades

**A/N:** okay, so I love the USA Network, (despite them canceling The 4400) but I just realized they're going to give us a cliffhanger. And we won't get anything until next June. But on the upside, at least we do get a second season! I hope more people get pulled into this show. It's too good and getting better, and it needs support! That said, if there are any Gilmore Girls fans on here, does anyone else hear and feel a striking similarity between Lorelei and Mary? Do they have one of their writers on the staff? I ask, because of the "I love you like an eight dollar whore" comment from last week, similarly quoted by Lauren Graham's character. It's a weird connection I know, but it's something I've been picking up on through the series. Both witty, and it's not a bad thing. Just interesting. Well, here is my next endeavor. Also a multi-chapter. I want this one to be longer chapters, so it may be three parts, that's my goal. "The Special Two" lyrics by Missy Higgins. I use lyrics like people use quotations…I am aware.

**Killing Time**

The Conscience Never Fades

_I've hardly been outside my room in days,  
'cause I don't feel that I deserve the sunshine's rays.  
The darkness helped until the whiskey wore away,  
And it was then I realize the conscience never fades.  
When you're young you have this image of your life:  
That you'll be scrupulous and one day even make a wife.  
And you make boundaries you'd never dream to cross,  
And if you happen to you wake completely lost.  
But I will fight for you, be sure that  
I will fight until we're the special two once again. _

It's hard to say exactly how they ended up like this. Albuquerque seemed about a billion hot, sticky, sandy miles away from where they were now. In what most people considered a pretty, vivid wonderland of pure white snow and ice, she considered a bitter cold disaster waiting to happen.

And she was right; they weren't getting out of this alive.

They didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell.

_Seven days ago…_

"Stan, you can't make me!" Mary pouted in a last ditch attempt she hadn't used since she learned the word 'no' and decided to make it her personal slogan, sounding far more childish than her thirty-six years. Marshall leaned against his desk, looking on with amusement, a half smirk at her obvious pain, waiting to see her stomp her feet in defiance.

Stan looked at his challenging employee, whom he was typically quite fond of, and sighed with resignation. She'd already argued that they were drastically understaffed, and any time off would reduce the protective detail of their witnesses…and lost.

"Mary, I really don't care. My blood pressure is through the roof, and I think for the sake of my health, you and Marshall need to take a few days off. Go away. Go to the tropics. Go to Mount-Freaking-Everest and bother some yaks or goats or Eskimos or something!"

Marshall opened his mouth at the misnomer—stopped though, when Stan held up his hand haltingly. "Marshall, don't start. Mary, if you don't get out of this office, I will…I will send you to the WITSEC counseling services," Stan threatened, satisfied at Mary's horrified expression.

"You would honestly have me _shrinked_?" She gasped, repulsed, and somewhat hurt by the insinuation.

"If it meant getting you out of my hair—" He gave Marshall another pointed, don't-even-think-about-it, look, "then yes…by all means, I will have you see a shrink on a daily reported basis."

Mary chewed her bottom lip, scrunching her nose in disgust and holding back her vehement protests against the accumulated vacation days she'd have to take, mandated due to "recent on-the-job stress," (example, her partner's near death; having had relations with a witness, something that no one knew they could truly prove, and which she greatly appreciated; and the fact that Mary Shannon had never once taken a vacation for so much as a toothache since her employment). Why would she want a vacation? So she could spend _more_ unfortunate time with her mother and sister, drinking copious amounts of alcohol at home and getting the family discount for spaghetti at the restaurant? Really, there was only so much pasta one could eat. And even if she managed to get away, she would be alone. But she liked being alone. Really.

It wasn't like Raph was waiting on baited breath for her anymore. His fat therapist and her little sister later, she'd lost about as much interest in him as she'd had in the first place.

"Fine," she acquiesced, exasperated. "But I'm taking paperwork. And files. And—"_  
_

"I get it, I get it, you'll work away from work. As long as you don't step foot in this office, not even the parking lot, Mary," Stan warned. "And don't try to pull a fast one over the receptionist downstairs. I gave her strict orders, your picture, and the power to detain you if you try to sneak in after hours."

"Stan, I'm offended," Mary paused thoughtfully. "And yet, strangely humbled that you think of my powers of persuasion in such high regard."

Marshall stifled a laugh. Stan massaged his temples. "I'm leaving…before I have a coronary. Marshall, make sure she leaves this place. Or you'll be joining her in therapy."

Marshall's smirk faded. "That's not fair, I'm all for vacation," he said defensively.

Mary smirked proudly at him now, bringing down the Golden Boy with her. She itched to stick out her tongue.

"Enough! Get out!" Stan yelled. He grabbed his briefcase and coffee cup, turning on his heel and storming for the elevator. Both WITSEC officers distinctly heard his half hearted, more or less affectionate, mutterings of being a "glorified high school principal with a slightly bigger paycheck" as the automatic doors clanged shut beyond his form.

Mary faced Marshall, sitting on her desk with a distant stare. "What the hell do you actually do for two weeks when you can't work? Watch crappy daytime television? I'd rather watch paint dry," she muttered, then glared at him, suddenly perturbed. "And what was that? You are so not 'all for vacation,' doofus."

Marshall shrugged. "Hey, beats being shrinked by some second rate high school guidance counselor from where I'm standing," he said with a grim smile. No, he wasn't looking forward to this "recommended" (code word for _forced_) vacation any more than she.

It wasn't like he had anything to go home to; a list of house repairs, some reading and a few movies he wanted to catch up with, maybe hit a museum in California…he did like the drive, and celebrity stalking was fun. He would like the opportunity to visit some old friends from college, but they were few and far, and most were married and saddled down with a soccer team of kids. His family had scattered across the country. Reunions, holidays, and weddings were the sole events that brought them together. Crazy as Mary's mother and sister were, they were still there for her. She just didn't see it that way, or wouldn't admit it.

She was fidgeting with a pen she'd tied a strand of chain linked metal paper clips around, when the idea hit him.

"Let's go to New York."

Mary's hand stilled, and she glanced up to see if he was speaking to her or someone on his cell phone. No. He was definitely implying her. Well, implying her and him.

"What? Who go where? Why?"

"You and me. It will kill some time, fourteen days? Come on, seriously, its' snowing in New York…and it's beautiful there in December. I'll teach you how to ice skate?" He sent her a long, pleading look. She squinted, studying him closely, trying to figure out his motives.

"Marshall isn't the point of a work vacation to get _away_ from the people you work with?" she said, her tone making the question far more harsh than she'd intended. He looked away. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean it like that."

She really hadn't either.

"Well…if you change your mind, I'm leaving on the first plane out tomorrow," he said evenly, collecting his notes and organizing files on his desk absently.

This vacation was off to a relaxing start, she thought. She'd already nearly pissed off Stan to the point of causing his somewhat hypochondriac induced heart attack and alienated her best friend in less than twenty minutes. Maybe she should have chosen therapy.

"Hey," Mary started softly. Marshall tensed. "Just…let me think about it. I've got to make sure Jinx and Squish don't burn my house down while I'm gone. And that kind of argument is going to take a lot of blackmailing to win."

Marshall nodded. Convincing her was part of the process, he knew. "Okay."

"Mom! Brandi! I'm leaving!" Mary called from the foyer. No answer, no surprise.

She'd spent three hours fielding questions, interrogating, feeling as if she was putting _them_ in the WITSEC program, and even wrote up a 'binding contract' that not even Siegfried and Roy could maneuver their way out of. She'd made them recite her words, demands, and rules—especially the consequences of not following those rules—back to her verbatim, for another hour, before making up her mind to go to New York for the duration of her recommended vacation.

And she was already regretting it.

Mary tugged her beat up carry on luggage out the door, along with an overnight bag and the suitcase she would check when she got to the airport. All of the ground she'd covered with her family, the packing that had been relatively easy, and one nagging thought pulled at her in her haste to get into her car.

She was forgetting something.

Halfway to the airport it hit her like a semi truck. She'd never called Marshall to tell him she was coming.

She pushed the gas pedal down with vengeance. Vacations were supposed to be calming. Were, being the operative word.

Not so; which, conclusively, was probably why she'd never taken one.

She was the worst person in the world.

"If you can't drive get off the damn road old lady!" Mary screamed out the window, receiving a few not so polite finger gestures and horns honked at her as she sped by. She ignored them all.

She grabbed for her cell phone, hitting speed dial one, and hoped he'd answer if he hadn't gone through security. No luck.

Frustrated, she swerved around the airport parking lot, paying extra for two weeks and most likely parking in the wrong section, she figured, because she hadn't trusted to leave her car with her sister and hauled her luggage out as fast as possible. Making her way into the lobby area, she found the first person that looked even somewhat capable of human interaction and asked for the first plane ticket out to New York.

The woman had looked at her quizzically. Probably because she lived in New Mexico and couldn't fathom why someone would want to travel to one of the bitterest cold parts of the states, Mary reflected, then glanced at the clocks lined up, each reading different time zones. She had less than ten minutes to get her bags checked, go through security, and find the gate.

And she flashed her badge all the way through.

In the midst of harassing a particularly adamant security officer, thinking the ways in which she would get back at Stan for forcing them out of the office and Marshall for picking a state three thousand miles away, she heard such the familiar voice behind her.

"You do realize that one of these days that badge won't get you out of trouble?"

Mary smiled, turning to see Marshall with his carry on bag slung over his shoulder. "Yea, but it works for situations like this, you know, when flashing people won't," she said with a shrug.

"She's with me," he told the security guard, amused. The guard looked at him with raised eyebrows, as if to say by the grace of God, good luck, and let them pass. "What changed your mind?"

She shrugged again. "I don't know really…it may have been that Stan really did give Vivian the receptionist my picture. Seriously, it's a rare day when I'm intimidated by a former librarian. Maybe it's all of those creepy male fantasies that have me thinking at any minute she's going to pull a ruler from her pantyhose," Mary said pensively. "Sorry I didn't call though. I spent half the day going over my own set of Marshal house rules with my family. If my house is gone when we get back, I'm moving in with you," she threatened. He laughed.

"Well I'm glad you changed your mind, creepy librarians and potential homelessness aside," Marshall said, nudging her shoulder with his.

Their flight was called to board.

"Why do want to spend two weeks with me anyway? I'm sure you could find someone else who's much more agreeable company. Or even, you know, _nice_," she asked, honestly curious.

He grinned, but didn't meet her eyes, thankful that they were walking up the ramp to the plane and not directly facing each other. "You're nice…when you want to be. I don't know, you're my friend. What do normal people usually do on vacation? They spend it with their friends."

She handed her ticket to the woman by the plane's entryway, who pointed them to a row midway in the plane. "I'm starting to feel really bad for you that I'm your only friend Marshall," Mary admitted, trying to keep her voice light as one of the flight attendants let her sultry gaze linger on Marshall a little longer than Mary deemed necessary. Damn stewardess, she thought. Like the first time that happened wasn't bad enough. Her smile was more of a grimace, saying, "I think I'm cramping your style."

Marshall looked behind her, throwing their carry on bags in the overhead bin, confused. "I don't understand." They took their seats; her by the window, him in the aisle, able to stretch his long legs.

"Well, most guys don't have _friends_ with boobs and estrogen," she emphasized the word friend, hoping he'd catch her drift. "Plus I'm not exactly the most compatible person to bring along on a trip to a city of millions of pretty people, where I'm certain you'd find a…lady friend quite…easily. Thus, bringing me has ruined your chances at a New York romance with a totally random stranger."

He blinked, trying to consume her uncharacteristic long-winded explanation. "I have got to stop letting you borrow my DVDs," he finally said, his tone tinged with sarcasm.

He knew she was a girl; there was no real denying that. Especially, he reflected, after the black cocktail dress she'd worn to Trina's bachelorette party months ago that still shimmered in and out of his mind. No denying it at all. "And to comment upon your first observation…most guys aren't as lucky as me then," Marshall answered, seeing her brown eyes warm up and her shoulders relax.

Her composure wouldn't last, he knew, but he decided to enjoy the few blissful moments with her that he could. She'd grown defensive of her position on their relationship lately, and he was confused by her sudden dramatic switch. Before, he thought it was her way of looking out for him…but she'd become more and more wary of the lingering gazes women would throw, quicker to anger, and she hadn't mentioned Raph in some time. Not since she'd told him, after an interesting Tequila driven conversation, that Raph was a baseball player and that being so, he should know that three strikes meant he was out.

Marshall didn't tell her that it gave him hope. For something more. He'd pretended to feel for her when she'd ended it, finally, with Raph. Just because women noticed him, he wanted to say, didn't mean he noticed them. He'd rarely noticed anyone but her in three years.

Mary opened her mouth, but the preflight guidelines and safety regulations were suddenly blasted throughout the speakers. Why they felt the need to dumb down America, and the world as a whole, by explaining the complications of strapping a seat belt on was beyond her. She tuned out, instead rolling Marshall's comment…compliment…over her mind. It was the way in which he'd declared it, sure, honest, with a hidden tone of something more…affection? Or maybe…she didn't want to go there. Not now. Not when she had to be on flight next to her ambitious double speak partner for awhile. And she hadn't even been able to form a response to it. What was there to say? Thanks, I appreciate it? You too?

So she just smiled. And he grinned too, before comfortably sliding down to close his eyes and rest, mulling over how to teach her to ice skate; she pulled on her headphones, scrolling through her iPod. Their relationship, partnership, friendship had been strained lately—not much, but enough for both to notice. Maybe New York was what she needed.

Maybe New York was what _they_ needed.

Mary decided, for once, to make the best out of the situation. She looked out across the New Mexican desert sands as they took off to the wintry New York skyline.

End of Part 1…been busy, more to come hopefully soon…it's all about the muse.


	2. Flirting With Disaster

--

**A/N:** I'm happy to note that I don't stand alone on the Mary/Lorelei connection! Really, it was eating at me one night, so I'm assuming that the creator was a fan, or did pluck a few former writers from the show. I know that my family noticed it too, so I'm not crazy. I have never been to New York, so I am sorry for any weather errors, as one pointed out, I live in the north, and we get snow by the truckload—my assumption is solely Hollywood based. But I'm not going to keep them in New York hint, hint. And I'll stop carrying on about nothing. ENJOY. (Oh, and why didn't they have a little more Mary/Marshall at the end?? What was that!? The finale…I feel jipped already…) I also went out of my way to Expedia what a flight to NY from NM would cost (not much if you book it now)/time that it would take (give or take 8 hours in "December" but that isn't including layovers or snow cancellations; I only take one flight a year, and I'm not much caring about the particulars for the story.) Sorry this is kind of a 'placement' chapter. "You're Not Alone," lyrics by Saosin.

**Killing Time**

Flirting With Disaster

_She's just like him  
Spoiled rotten, confused by the lies she's been fed  
She's searching for no one (but herself)  
Her eyes turn to green and she seems to be happy that she is her  
And this time I think you'll know_

_You're not alone_

_There is more to this, I know_

_You will make it out_

_You will live to tell..._

Three connecting flights and one layover later, they'd finally reached New York. Mary was cranky and crabby, sick of the leering men undressing her with their roving eyes, sick of the stewardesses flirting with Marshall, sick of the jet lag she already felt creeping up in the vestiges of her mind.

So much for making the best of the "Vacation Situation," as Mary now affectionately referred to the required leave of absence. Her eyes were stormy and petulant, clutching her carry on and bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet restlessly.

Marshall felt her growing irritation and discomfort. He was the type of person that, despite a relatively calm, collected personality, could quickly alter his mood in favor of the largest population of a different mood. In other words, Mary's agitated state was beginning to sink into Marshall's senses, thus making him agitated as well. Before her volatile nature got out of her control, he gently gripped her wrist, holding it loosely to convey his understanding while they waited for their luggage to emerge on the conveyer belt.

Her reaction to his soothing gesture was to tense slightly, before she inhaled sharply, then slowly exhaled. Counting to ten. Calming down. She felt better within a few seconds. Their luggage made its somewhat bruised and battered entrance from the room beyond the wall, both simply happy that it hadn't been lost during one of the many delayed connections.

"Hey, what do say we grab something to eat? I'm starving and I'd rather try not to remember what it was I think I was eating on the plane," Marshall asked casually, hoisting the luggage to a less uncomfortable position than the previous.

"You mean all of those airplane peanuts didn't fill you up?" Mary commented, though Marshall's awareness of the stewardesses bringing him the numerous packs of peanuts throughout their flights seemed to bypass his attention, when she noted how his brow knit in confusion. She relented. "Dinner sounds good, but let's ditch the luggage please? I'm not toting these all over the city," she answered.

They hailed a cab, shoving the luggage in the trunk while Marshall gave directions somewhere that wasn't a hotel. Mary looked at him curiously. He wouldn't answer her though, she knew, by the half smirk on his face even if she asked. She went along for the ride instead, watching tiny snowflakes fall lightly around the bright lights of the cityscape, though they melted away at the touch of the slick pavement. Even from the interior of a musty taxi that smelled of stale milk and McDonald's, it was almost…romantic.

Mary scratched that thought immediately. If she didn't stop thinking in those terms, she was sure to get herself in a lot of unnecessary trouble. But this whole trip had been his idea, and why else would he really have invited her along, when clearly he had no trouble catching the eye of so many others that were younger, prettier, well read, well traveled, well…well everything that she didn't feel she was. She took a deep breath.

"So…where is all this snow?" Mary asked. Marshall shrugged.

"So I lied. A little."

"Marshall, where are we going?" She tried again, the same irritation from the airport creeping back into her tone.

"You'll see," he replied obscurely. He wanted it to be a surprise, even if she hated it, even if she threatened his life, he refused to let slip their destination. It is what they did best after all.

She grumbled something inaudibly that he ignored, and she slid down in the cabs back seat, tired and awake at the same time. Her eyes drifted open and shut, heard the click of the meter and the turn signal from time to time, and the radio buzzed statically about some tabloid headline story. The cabs motion lulled her into a deep, exhausted sleep.

A gentle hand brushed her shoulder carefully, a slight shake, and the warm breath of someone close to her face whispered to her sleep addled mind, "We're here."

She twitched, slightly annoyed about being woken up from her much needed sleep. Blearily opening her eyes, she took in the thin layer of snow that frosted the ends of…grass? The only grass in New York City belonged in Central Park, and she didn't think it would take that long to get to it. The sun, she noticed, was oddly rising along the horizon…when had that happened? Slowly awakening, she saw Marshall grinning brightly.

Marshall gave a small laugh at her confusion. "I never said we were staying in New York, this is Redfield."

"How long have we been in the car?" she demanded, slightly surprised. Marshall grinned, holding out his hand to pull her out of the cab. He wasn't about to tell her how much he'd paid; and he'd only paid a quarter of it after a long battle with a friend. "Give or take five hours."

Her jaw fell open. "What? Wait, what?" she sputtered.

"We're in upstate New York—this is an old friend of mines bed and breakfast. She told me she'd send a cab for us, didn't want us to drive unfamiliar territory," he replied, and noted her jaw fell more when she took in the gorgeous inn.

"Why?"

He shrugged, pulling out their luggage from the trunk, Mary not even protesting when he refused to release the handle of her suitcase to her. "I called her awhile back, after she'd graduated college with her business degree. She was going to go into real estate: bought the first place she was given to sell though. She turned into this place," he stated, nodding to the beautiful two story home.

"I always was an impulse buyer," a feminine voice said warily from somewhere behind Mary, causing Mary to turn and Marshall to smile wildly. "Marshall, how long has it been?" she questioned, eyes tearing.

"Too long," he set the luggage down and enveloped the woman in a long embrace. Mary averted her eyes, clearly not a part of this moment, and couldn't squash the rising anger she felt sparking in the back of her mind.

"And who is this? You didn't tell me anything about your girlfriend, wife?" the woman asked slyly. Marshall stared at his old friend with a stunned expression. Mary jumped in.

"No, no, no, we're work partners. I'm Mary Shannon, it's good to meet you," Mary said, anything but pleased about meeting some other woman in his life. The woman eyed her curiously, then Marshall.

"Well, Marshall's Mary, I'm Haley Van Camp, it's incredibly wonderful to meet you too," she replied politely. "Well then, work partners. Okay. I have your room ready, and dinner will be in the main parlor. Oh, Marshall, you'll get to meet Ryan!"

That seemed to wake Marshall from his brief, stunned silence. "That's right, I forgot that?" Marshall was smiling again…Mary was following his movements, wondering who all of these strangers truly were. Wondering why her partner had never told her he had had a life before the Marshal service…and worrying about her had taken over his life.

Suddenly, she did not want to be here anymore.

The moment they stepped in from the quaintly yellow painted outside, into the lavish interior of the self made bed and breakfast, a tiny blur rounded a corner, screeching at the top of its lungs.

Mary flinched in surprise. Marshall laughed. The woman grabbed the screaming ball of energy up in her arms, laughing wildly.

"Hey baby boy, I'd like you to meet some friends of mine!" the boy, no more than three, whipped his head around seeking his mothers friends. "Marshall, Mary, this is my son Ryan, Ryan, say hi," she said slowly, like all parents of young children seemed to do.

Marshall held out his arms towards the wriggling child. Not shy in the least, the boy gripped his tiny hands around Marshall's thumbs, and Haley passed him over. Mary watched him interact with the little boy, feeling more useless and different from this show of emotions than ever.

"Andrew is in the kitchen; he won't let me near it since he took over full cooking preparations. All I do is submit the orders now," Haley said, smiling at Marshall's bond with her son. "He looks completely like Drew, but he's got my energy."

"Where's Holly?" Marshall asked curiously. The little boy was calming slightly and now stared with a strange fascination at Mary. He reached his small fist out to her, and she quietly offered her index finger out to him. He grinned.

"Oh, she's running around here somewhere too. I can't keep that girl in my sights. She's nine, you know, won her class spelling bee two weeks ago…the time flies so fast," said Haley with a wistful tone. "Oh, Mary you can hold him if you like?"

Mary wrenched her finger back. "No that's fine. I'm really tired. Do you mind if I head to bed, the cab ride was long and so was the plane…jet lag." She was starving, but she wasn't about to admit it to Wonder Woman, Susie Homemaker Edition. Mary tried to force a smile, but couldn't keep the sarcasm from her tone. Hell, this woman was married to a different man, and she was irritated about her and Marshall…what was wrong with her?

"It's on the second floor, room 212. I didn't know Marshall was bringing someone, so you'll have to share. I can have Andrew bring up an extra cot, if it's necessary, and there are sofas as well?" Haley added apologetically. The look in her eye held a glimmer to it though. Haley Van Camp was a smart woman. She caught on quickly, and her gut instinct screamed at her to get the two together in a quiet place. Either they would kill each other or end up with something better for the both of them.

From the moment she'd seen Mary tense at her presence, Haley knew her old friends partner held a prickly disposition that bordered somewhere between a vigorous need to protect what was hers, and a quiet, restrained jealously against anyone who tried to worm their way in. Marshall was _Mary's_…and she was all but ready to fight those that would attempt to take him away.

She just didn't realize what it meant yet.

The three were interrupted by the appearance of a tall man, dark haired with green eyes and a well defined jaw. He was what would be considered tall, dark, and handsome, if it wasn't the apron reading: KISS THE COOK! in all its glory detracting from the handsome features. The green splotches and bits of peanut butter and grape jelly smeared down the white material didn't make matters better either.

"Andrew, what are you making for us?" Marshall asked immediately, forgetting introductions once again. "Green eggs and peanut butter?"

"Marshall! I thought Haley was kidding when she said you were flying out here for a few weeks? It's about damn time! Seriously, we thought you'd gone into witness protection or something, we never see you!" Drew exclaimed, his passing, ironic tongue-in-cheek, Freudian slip caused Mary to freeze and Marshall to laugh—a little too loudly.

"Well my boss doesn't really dole out vacation days, but he's made an exception," Marshall started, the lightness in the air starting to tense once more. "It's been…a rough year. I needed to get away…_we_ needed to get away." Remembering Mary still stood behind him, he tried to move to shed some of the attention on her, which she did not desire to accept. She smiled still, forced and tight.

"Haley, first you neglect to tell me my best man—no pun intended Marshall—is flying all the way across the country to stay with us, but you regret to inform me he's brought his blonde bombshell girlfriend? I get to answer the phone next time he calls," Drew mockingly scolded his wife. She rolled her eyes and shoved her husband, nervously tucking strands of her auburn hair behind her ears.

"I'm sorry, Drew likes to jump to conclusions," Haley said quickly. "Drew, this is Marshall's work partner in the Marshal Service, Mary Shannon."

Drew seemed confused, which Mary, unfortunately, understood completely. It was a look she'd become used to lately—not so much used to as aware of it anyway; she'd suddenly seen it appear upon the faces of strangers, and even more familiar ones. In the back of her mind, she knew Stan thought more was happening between his top team, and had set the boundaries of not asking and not telling as long as it was professional in the office.

Recent events including his hospital stay for being shot in the chest, and now with the assumptions brought upon by his friends, she wondered herself what was happening. Were they missing something?

"Good to meet you Andrew," Mary said quietly, still trying to process her own inner dialogue.

"Likewise, and I apologize for my assumption. I'm always the last to know," Drew said with a grin.

"Hah, how about that, me too," she countered, giving Marshall a long glare that screamed for a fight later on.

Sensing that things would only get worse the longer they lingered in the small alcove without food and sleep, Marshall handed over the now sleeping Ryan to Haley, whose cheek he brushed a quick kiss across. He decidedly did not turn to see Mary's reaction; then wondered why it mattered to him. Shaking hands with Andrew, and quickly placing an order for whatever could be made in the Chinese or Mexican variety, Marshall and Mary made their way tiredly up the wooden staircase to their room. Mary ready to crash, Marshall hoping Mary would put the argument he saw coming on the back burner…and forget what had happened.

Haley turned to her husband with a renewed spark back in her eyes. "Andrew, I think…"

Her husband held up a hand. "Haley…don't even…stay out of it. You're flirting with disaster here," he warned.

She closed her mouth then, rocking Ryan in her arms subconsciously. Drew was right and wrong, even he had seen the shared, knowing glances that spoke volumes of the "just work partners" connection. They knew their friend very well…and when Marshall Mann was dedicated to someone…well…their was no backing out. Haley had her ideas. She just needed to set what needed to happen in the best order.

"They deserve their happiness," she whispered to her son's sleeping form.

End part 2! I'm trucking along…I promise…sorry it's posted so late! I feel horrible, and it's not my best but I need to get feedback…forgive the muse that left me momentarily.


	3. Does It Make A Sound?

**A/N:** Thank you for the reviews! I can't tell you all how much they mean, for real, it gives me the courage to keep writing, even when I feel like I'm failing. And yea, that eight dollar w line was what cinched it for me. So here is the third part…up sooner rather than later…and the twist in the story is happening…"The Special Two" lyrics by Missy Higgins.

_"__If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?__"_ -philosophical question of unknown origin

**Killing Time**

Does It Make A Sound?

_I remember someone old once said to me,  
That lies will lock you up with truth the only key.  
But I was comfortable and warm inside my shell,  
And couldn't see this place would soon become my hell.  
So is it better to tell and hurt or lie to save their face?  
Well I guess the answer is don't do it in the first place.  
I know I'm not deserving of your trust from you right now,  
But if by chance you change your mind you know I will not let you down  
'cause we were the special two, and we'll be again._

Around four in the afternoon the following day, Marshall stumbled down the inn's stairs after an uncomfortable few hours of unrest in their room. He couldn't sleep, despite jet lag and their late morning arrival in Redfield. All of the assumptions were spinning in his head, and the idea of Mary in his room did not help his whirling mind either. Their argument had been blissfully brief, but incomplete.

It had started because she was tired, he knew. Jet lag did not sit well with Mary. But they'd been flown all over the country for their witnesses, and never had she been so…out of character. Her face was red with unchecked emotions, and she ground her teeth until they'd closed the bedroom door behind them. Then she'd spilled over like a pot of boiling water.

"Why didn't you tell me we were staying in freaking Pleasantville? Marshall, I thought we were staying in the city, not…five hours from civilization with the Stepford couple!" She shrieked, throwing her luggage in a corner.

"That's not fair; Haley and Drew are wonderful people. I've been friends with the two of them since high school; they've wanted me to come up here for years! I thought you'd enjoy time _away_ from noise and busy cities and people, maybe I was wrong?" He threw out, exhausted. He hated starting fights with Mary. It took years off of his life just thinking about the possibilities of how long the argument would last, let alone actually be about.

"Well for someone who's such great friends with both of them you sure do favor Haley," she said in a loud whisper, trying to say it to herself and yet make it heard at the same time. His anger flared.

"Why do you assume that? You don't know anything about them! You don't know anything about _me_! You just have to jump to your own conclusions and solutions so everything makes sense to _you_!" He yelled back furiously. She was stunned for a moment. In the three years they'd been partnered together, Marshall had _never_ yelled at her. Scolded, teased, called in concern that came off as nervous vulnerability…but never outright yelled at her. Not even when she'd read his mail, the letter that seemed to solidify the possibility of his resignation, he'd been nothing more than upset. She didn't know how to deal with this, a strange feeling of being slapped burned in her mind. His tone changed, but conveyed the same feeling; "Maybe this wasn't a good idea. I'll talk to Haley in the afternoon. We'll head back to the city tomorrow."

She swallowed thickly, but gave no response. "Night," she whispered, still shaken.

After that they hadn't spoken. He'd opted to sleep on the sofa, letting her take the bed. The tension remained and doubled, hanging in the air like a dense fog. The evening light hadn't changed it either; Mary refused to leave the room when Marshall was out, fearing she'd run into him.

Haley knew things between the 'just work partners' had gone from bad to horribly worse when Marshall's grim face greeted her hostess smile. Her heart sank for him.

"What happened?" were the first two words out of her mouth when she saw the sadness in his eyes. He was one of the few people able to maintain a collected exterior when everything around him was falling apart. It was an admirable quality in the face of danger—it was a flaw in the mundane details of everyday life.

He shrugged one shoulder, shaking his head. "I thought it would be a good idea, being here, the calm, the quiet, the lack of people that the city has…turns out I've been wrong about a lot of things lately."

She looked her friend over sympathetically. A few guests mingled nearby. She gave a nod to the kitchen, and he followed. Haley waved him into a seat at the long countertop; the uplifting scent of fresh coffee and lasagna mingled in the air, chopped tomatoes and green pepper rested brightly on a wood cutting board.

"You've done really well for yourself, Haley. And I never took Drew to be the chef? Who knew, right?" Marshall said while taking in the well furbished kitchen. Haley smiled, handing him a cup of coffee and a plate of the lasagna.

"Well…not much of this would have happened without a little bit of help from you."

"Don't start. This was all your idea," he replied, sipping the hot coffee from the green ceramic mug, referring to the vast, gorgeous inn.

"Oh come on, you were always too modest. Obviously that hasn't changed. But really, Marshall, you changed my life for the better. It's in your nature. You care."

"I care too much. Which is how I ended up sleeping on a very small sofa," he retorted dryly. Her hostess smile gone, replaced by the ever present concern she held for anyone she'd ever met, Marshall couldn't help realizing how much of a motherly person his old friend was, and always had been. However the trip turned out, Marshall thought absently, Haley would change both Mary and he for the better.

"Well, Marshall, I can't believe you have yet to figure it out, but…your friend, your partner, she's completely in love with you," Haley stated flatly. She was not one for tactlessness, but sometimes the truth hurt, and sometimes men just needed the most complicated thing simplified. Marshall was uniquely sensitive to reactions, she had always known that, but when such reactions were out of the ordinary in concern with him, it seemed they passed by him without dropping a hint of something more. He was used to Mary being angry and quirky and crazy and over protective towards him…but he wasn't used to the reason 'why' she was acting the way she was.

Marshall snorted at his friend's statement, fiddling with the fork in his hand. "Honestly, Haley, she'd never be interested in me that way. Mary doesn't have many…people in her life she can trust easily and deal with. I'm one on a very short list that won't let her down…I couldn't do that to her. I couldn't call her out on something like that."

Haley stared at him, fascinated that two people could not see that they were better together than they'd ever be apart. "Marshall, you're back to assuming. How do you know what she wants…or doesn't want?"

"I just do," he said, his tone controlled. He didn't need to alienate another friend. "She's not the only one who has a short list…some of us bounce back, and some of us can't afford to lose the people we want the most."

"So what? So you end up alone if you tell her and you scare her off, and you end up even lonelier if you don't. Is that what you want Marshall? You want to wait until she does find someone else, someone who is only second best, second choice, thinking, knowing you could have had her first?"

He couldn't meet her bright blue eyes. They'd always been kindred spirits, always thinking on the same level, always expressive of their opinions…Mary didn't understand why they were close, but she'd felt it immediately. He'd have to explain later, but explaining meant revealing a different life to her. He cleared his throat. "What do I do?" he asked, truly wanting the answer.

"You always were better at helping others than helping yourself, you know. I really thought you'd be the one long married by now," she commented.

"Well, fate is a tricky thing," he laughed, trying to ease the tension. The coffee had long gone cold in his hands, and the lasagna still sat untouched.

"I have a few ideas, but you know her better. Choose at your own discretion my dearest friend," she said, feeling like a conspiratorial teenager again, passing notes under their desks and figuring out who was going to the homecoming dance with whom.

"You can't make Mary jealous," he threw in quickly, hoping that bringing in another woman wouldn't be one of the options. He still felt bad for the two stewardesses—flight attendants—she'd brutally harassed.

"Oh, Honey, you're way past making Mary jealous. That stage ended about a plane ride ago. You need to tell her what you're feeling, very bluntly. It's probably the lamest idea, but the most obvious; just, be yourself." Marshall thought of the engagement ring cupcake Raphael had presented to Mary, and tried to hold back his laughter. He knew very well what Haley meant. "You know her the best, yes, but you don't know how she works as a woman. She's tough and smart and stubborn in your eyes, even beautiful…but the fear is that that's all you see and will ever see. She wants more. She doesn't know how to say it."

Marshall gave one of his oldest friends a lop-sided smile. "You always were the matchmaker."

"Yea, and I am always right," she replied seriously. "Take her somewhere away from here tomorrow. Get away from the tension. Get away from me and the other people here. There are some trails and a park and the scenery is beautiful this time. You know what she likes and how she is. Now put that together and you won't go wrong. Lord knows if she can handle you and all of your Encyclopedia Brown tendencies, the two of you deserve each other."

"See, that was just mean. Who helped you pass your English Lit exam again?" Marshall asked smartly.

They reminisced for hours after that, putting his preoccupied thoughts of Mary on hold, discussing the inn and their families and her kids. Andrew taught him a few tricks for vegetarian lasagna, which was what the chopped tomatoes and peppers had been for; Haley gave him a tour of the newest additions to the enormous house, and he caught up with a few of her guest regulars. It was a nice change, Marshall thought, being in the quiet company of people that knew him as he was. Not someone who faked a name over the phone and in a courtroom and couldn't discuss job particulars with like Haley could about her inn. Maybe it was why he'd taken up so many hobbies through the years—so he could fit in anywhere, no matter what happened. He gave himself options. He witnessed what their job did to those that couldn't escape the lies and secret lives.

He saw her every day.

Resolutely deciding to figure this situation out for himself, Marshall excused himself from Haley's side, barely missing her knowing smile, and made his way up to room 212.

His fist was poised to knock, even though the room was shared and he had a key, he felt it a bad idea to impose, when the door swung open.

She wouldn't meet his eyes, but she was the first to speak. "Marshall…I didn't mean to offend you or these people…"

He stopped her with a wave of his hand. "No, I should have told you where we were going. I know you hate surprises, but I wanted this to be one. I'll know better next time," she smiled at that, finally meeting his gaze. "Which is why I'm telling you to put on your winter clothes and I'll bring the rest of what we'll need."

"What? Wait, Marshall, it's almost six o'clock. Doesn't it get darker faster in the winter?" Mary pestered him as he went about collecting his jacket and hat and gloves.

"Are you scared of snow?" He asked smugly. She wouldn't back down now he knew. And as he watched, her chin tilted up, her brown eyes narrowed, and her arms crossed defensively. Marshall shook his head. The one thing his partner should have been born with was a warning label. Caution: contents under pressure may explode and cause injury. Keep out of reach.

Hell, she _was_ her own warning label.

"Just do it, I promise you'll like this surprise a lot better," he said, not taking no for an answer. He would drag her out kicking and screaming. Which he may very well have had to if she didn't concede after five more minutes of pretending she didn't want to go. It was really too easy.

"Fine, give me a couple so I can figure out how you people wear seven layers of clothes at the same time and still look thin…" she mumbled, yanking her suitcase into the bathroom.

One point for him. One step forward for her. The trip was not a complete failure…it was still salvageable.

By six-thirty she finally emerged from the bathroom, looking something akin to an overstuffed, yellow haired, baby doll. He couldn't help but laugh at her.

"I'd hit you if I could bend my arms," She said bitterly. "Seriously, this little rendezvous better be worth it."

"If you can't move, it may be a moot point considering," Marshall replied, stifling the laughter. He shook his head, remembering the days where his mother would bundle him and his siblings in puffy snowsuits and thick winter coats, hats and two pairs of mittens, boots that made bending knees impossible, just to play in the fluffy powder for a few hours. "The best way to go about this is to start with the thinnest piece of clothing, and slowly build up to the thickest…you kind of meshed them all together, and now look like Barbie after Thanksgiving dinner."

"I appreciate your captivating wit."

"Thought you'd like that. Here," he said, pulling two boxes from his luggage. "One is just a gag gift; the other is part of the surprise."

Mary gave a small smile. He'd gone to a lot of trouble…just for her.

"Open them," he encouraged her, knowing she itched to tear the paper. With his words, she did.

The gag gift was a lovely pair of white boxers with the signature, red tourist print of I Heart NY, the heart in place of the actual word, scattered all over the fabric. "I thought you would enjoy those as well."

"I do, and I will, if I ever manage to find my way out of the seven layers I seem to have zipped and squished and strapped myself into."

The second box was unwrapped as quickly as the first, but the reaction was slower, and far different. "Marshall…I thought you were kidding," she whispered breathlessly. The brand new white ice skates gleamed back at her from the pale blue tissue paper they rested in. Living in Albuquerque hadn't given her many options for ice skating or winter time activities as a whole. The Shannon's didn't do vacations, especially if it involved traveling. Mary often shuddered the thought of driving for an hour with her mother and sister, let alone a week or more. At least living with them, she had the upper hand: it was her house; she could kick them out whenever she pleased. Kicking one out of a moving vehicle proved a bigger problem…with seat belts and far too many witnesses. The movies made it look easier than it was.

"I…thank you…these, they must have cost a fortune though?" she didn't want to accept such an expensive gift. It was another reason she'd never taken to sports: the cost. Her mother had lamented about the cost of skates when she was eight years old; nearly six hundred dollars…not counting lessons and coaches fees and rink time.

He waved her concern away. "I have my connections. Don't worry about it, just enjoy them, please." She nodded her consent. He glanced at his watch, knowing they had to head out soon.

"It shouldn't take me long to get—"

His response was cut short, stunned when she kissed his cheek, lingering longer than when he'd been shot and promised her he would not die.

She pulled back quickly, surprised by her own actions. "No one's ever…given me something like this," she admitted quietly. He shrugged.

"It's my pleasure. Anything for you," he smiled. "Now, if you want to use them, I have to get ready so we can head out."

Mary nodded her agreement. "Okay. But hurry," she said, now impatient as ever to get in the car and drive.

Haley, in her haste to get her best friend and his best friend together, alone, anywhere but the inn, had offered her car easily to Marshall. She'd winked at him as they'd passed the check-in desk, seeing Mary's beaming face, and the ice skates she clutched onto for dear life. "You two have fun now!" she called as the door swung shut behind them. She really was the best matchmaker there was…now all she had to do was figure out when to clear her schedule for the wedding…

"Are we there yet?" Mary asked for the hundredth time since he'd pulled out of the lot. She was implacable in her interrogation. Marshall had come close to breaking down and telling her where they were heading, but kept his resilience.

"No," he replied dryly. She slumped in the passenger seat, her fingertips dancing over the elegant new skates in absentminded fascination. He was happy she was happy, for once, in the time he'd known her; truly happy. It was rare. It was rare in their career and their lack of personal lives. She alienated everyone; he kept to himself, not one to go out to clubs or parties even in his college years, although not for a lack of trying. It wasn't him.

Mary took in the scenary before her; the quiet roads, the sleepy towns, fields that were bare now, with remnants of frosted corn stalks and bright red barns that housed cows and horses. She liked it here, and that thought left her with more of a headache than before. It settled somewhere with the thoughts of Marshall's intentions, and if she really pushed herself, _her_ own intentions for this vacation.

"Marshall…"

"We're not there yet."

"Fine," she mumbled, left to her anxious, curious thoughts…and he left with his.

Fifteen minutes later, the car lurched to a stop.

"Now…" Marshall paused, holding back the urge to laugh at the hand poised over her seatbelt buckle. "We are here."

She was out before he could finish.

A lake that he'd heard talk of by the guests had fueled his idea. He had originally gotten the skates to teach her in the city, but here, upstate, it would be just the two of them.

Marshall helped her lace up the ice skates, her hands too clumsy in anticipation of trying the blades out on the slick surface. They stood slowly, and her death grip on his arms was already causing him to grimace in pain. As soon as her first skate touched the ice, she let go.

And found out what a mistake that was two seconds later.

"I was going to warn you..." Marshall said between eye-watering bursts of laughter. He pulled her up, and Mary once again felt her feed slide out from underneath. She clutched onto him.

"How do you actually move in these?" she bit out. Mary did not like when she could not succeed at something. Skating, apparently, was now amongst the short list.

"You've got to take it slow. You can't just throw them on and go. It's an art."

"Whatever, just show me," Mary said with a roll of her eyes and a ghost of a smile. He shook his head, and relented, putting his arm around her small waist and talking her through the appropriate foot placement, how to stand, how to push her body forward, how to stop, and how to turn.

Half of his lessons registered. The other half went out the other ear, with his hands guiding her and his closeness, she couldn't concentrate on the meaningless words. Those were the moments she would fall, ankles would give, and she'd nearly take Marshall down with her unsteady strides. She could feel the bruises and cuts and bumps forming along her unblemished skin, but it was well worth it. She got to be alone, far from home and far from a lonely reality, with him.

And she was starting to not mind that strain of thought…but what would happen when they left this peaceful place? Would they go back to being friends that flirted with each other, secretly hating the other's significant other? What would happen to the friendship and the partnership if it turned into a…relationship?

She couldn't start something and not finish it. Not with him.

And neither could he.

"Marshall…" she started quietly. "I…"

Distracted for a mere blip of a second, she stumbled over a chip in the lake's surface, flailing for balance. But he'd been just as distracted, and in a last effort, twisted so he took the brunt of the fall.

"Ouch," he winced. He was definitely going to have a headache in the morning. Mary pushed herself up, having landed on his chest.

"I'm so sorry," she said, worriedly searching for anything out of place.

"It's okay, I'm okay. Nothing is broken. Maybe my dignity, but other than that," he chuckled, waving away her concern.

"Oh, come on, we both know you lost that a long time ago," Mary said smartly. Marshall glared good-naturedly at his partner.

"You laugh now…" he paused. "What was your question, you know, before we decided to make a crash landing?"

Mary stilled, looking away. She needed an excuse. "I just…wanted to thank you again, for all of this," she said flatly, uncharacteristically unconvincing in his opinion as well.

He nodded. He knew she was lying, everything in her body language read fear. "You'll say what you want to say when you're ready."

She looked at him oddly. He knew her too well. "Maybe I will," Mary whispered honestly.

The silence settled in, each trying to compartmentalize their feelings and knowing her words would be the parting ones for this particular conversation.

One step back.

Looking for something to say, he glanced at the watch on her left wrist. Eight o'clock. "We should probably head back. It's nearly black out and we don't want to get too lost," he stated. Mary nodded her agreement, each picking the other up and sliding back to the edge of the lake. She slipped off the skates, feeling the pain in her ankles burning up her shins and the muscles tensing in her back.

Both hobbled lightly back to the car. Marshall gave a small smile, holding the door open for her.

She smiled back. They had made progress, an ever so insignificant amount, but progress nonetheless. "Come on Michelle Kwan, let's get something to eat. I helped Andrew make a mean vegetarian lasagna before we left."

"Well, how could a girl turn down an offer like that?" she smirked. He would have commented, but a faded green pick up truck pulled up to Haley's car before he could.

"Can we help you?" Marshall asked when the truck stopped.

Three men sat in the truck; brothers, he figured, all having similar profiles and looking like younger versions of each other. The driver smiled.

"Yes, we've been traveling for hours, and we can't seem to find this one road. We figured you all might know where it is; you're the first couple we've seen," the man replied.

"Well we're not from around here really, but I can try. What's the road name?" Marshall said. Mary felt a strange feeling in the back of her mind. She reached for Marshall's hand, trying to relay her hesitance to him.

"Jimmy, why don't you show'em the map we bought from that gas station? I swear that cashier gave us the wrong damn county, teenagers, you know? Always on their cell phones textin' their friends."

Jimmy, apparently the youngest of the three men, hopped out of the back. A lanky, skinny kid, no more than twenty-two, Marshall figured in his assessment. He opened the map, pointing out where they needed to be.

Marshall eyed it for a few moments, walking up to the driver's side door prudently. "You took a wrong turn about right…here…and you're going to want to go back this way about five miles, and take a left."

The man nodded. "Well, that makes a lot more sense now."

"No problem," Marshall said. "Have a good night. And good luck."

"One more thing," the man said quickly. Marshall turned back around. What happened he never saw coming. Literally.

He heard Mary's scream before everything exploded and he blacked out.

It was useless calling for help. Who would hear? A few birds, a rabbit, a deer?

They were so screwed.

"You're the one that's going to need that luck."

End part 3! Long chapter. I know. But it was necessary! I have the story played out in my mind…its going to get a little darker…


	4. If It Helps You Sleep At Night

**A/N:** sorry again for the lateness! I had to gather ideas and I haven't been feeling well…I just watched this creepy confusing movie called _Wind Chill_, if anyone is interested. It makes no sense, and the ending is…sucky…but the effects are good and I love the actress—the assistant from _Devil Wears Prada_, the red haired girl. Love her accent. Anyways, I know that the ice skates sounded expensive, but it was more of a reflection of how parents over exaggerate prices to deter their children from things. I think an average pair of professional/custom skates are like…anywhere from 3-7 hundred. I was going for the idea that he really thought the gift through. Oh well…here's part 4! "Halo" lyrics by Bethany Joy Lenz.

**Killing Time**

If It Helps You Sleep At Night

_I always said that I would make mistakes_

_I'm only human, and that's my saving grace_

_I fall as hard as I try _

_So don't be blinded _

_See me as I really am, _

_I have flaws and sometimes I even sin_

_So pull me from that pedestal_

_I don't belong there_

_One thing is clear_

_I wear a halo when you look at me_

_But standing from here_

_You wouldn't say so_

Everything hurt. That much he was sure of. But it was the persistent shaking that was annoying him the most. He groaned, feeling like he was a kid again, being forcibly woken to go to school at six in the morning.

"Marshall," a female voice whispered, urgency in her tone. "Marshall?" it questioned again, and he wanted nothing more than for it to go away. The pounding in his head was blinding, causing bright white sparks to burst in the backs of his eyelids. "Marshall!" the voice exclaimed, and was accompanied by a decidedly unnecessary punch to the right shoulder. That got him up.

His eyes blinked deliriously, trying to focus in on her form. He winced at the throbbing war of a headache being waged. "_Ouch_," he drew out the single syllable word. "That sucked."

"I'm sure it did Sherlock, but we've got bigger problems," she muttered.

"Mary? I didn't know there were two you," he said, pausing for effect before cracking a lopsided smile. She rolled her eyes.

"That would be funny if we weren't holed up in the three hillbilly stooges basement," she replied sarcastically.

"What happened? Back at the lake?"

She looked away. "The driver, I think the one with the map, Jimmy, said his name was Sam, and the other one was Lou. Sam took a shot at you with the driver side mirror. Clocked you pretty hard."

"What about you, are you okay?" he asked quickly, looking her over with blurry vision. She looked alright, but she did not sound alright.

She shrugged. "I'll be okay. But Jimmy…he's not exactly the happiest person in the world right now," she grinned.

"Why…"

"Let's just say ice skates are the stilettos of defending yourself in the middle of winter. At least he won't have too much to worry about in prison."

Even in his dizzy, unfocused mind, he got the drift. And he cringed. "Never, and I repeat—_never_—get that mad at me."

"You haven't given me a reason yet," Mary whispered softly. She pulled at her shirt then, tearing the hem of the once pristine pale blue fabric. He realized there were gaping holes in the rest of her layered clothing as well, especially her jeans. In the midst of winding the blue cloth into a mock bandage, he grasped her wrist firmly. She flinched and glanced up, meeting his blue eyes. Which were quite suddenly very clear.

"Mary, what did they do?" he questioned slowly. His stare trapped her; she swallowed thickly.

"I told you, don't worry about it—"

"Bull. What did they do Mary?"

"Nothing. They tried…they just didn't get very far…they didn't know I had the ice skates with me. Really, Marshall, once I got Jimmy with the blades they stopped; considering they were all bleeding a little profusely in places too," her impish grin was back. "They can't be that bright…they left a few minutes ago…I'm guessing for the hospital, so I figured we should try to make a run for it now."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Marshall asked once more. He was worried about her state of mind; no one gets jumped by three grown men and jokes their way around it, no matter how tough, no matter how seemingly impervious. There was only so much she could take. And there was little he could do about it now.

"Eventually, I just, I fought, Marshall, I fought and right now all I can do is focus on the task at hand. I'll process later, but right now if we don't get out of this creepy basement I won't be okay and neither will you. At least the stooges didn't think to clean your wound, by the way," Mary said evenly, holding up bits of broken mirror no longer than finger length, albeit tinted red. "Obviously they underestimated what a piece of chipped mirror can cut through."

Marshall observed the severed, frayed ends of rope that lay entwined like limp snakes on the wood floor.

"If we get out of this alive, remind me to thank you," Marshall said resolutely. She nodded.

"I'll hold you too that, but we need to get going." Mary dabbed at the flattering dent in Marshall's head the mirror had left gently, his fists clenched at the pain. He repeated the same mantra in his mind: it could have been worse. The things they could have done to Mary while he was unconscious, three men against one woman. A tough, hardcore woman who would not go out without a fight. Still, one only had so much fight before even the strongest broke.

"Worry about my injury later, let's go," Marshall reiterated as she started to tear another piece of her clothing. She hesitated, but gave in and put his arm over her shoulder, slowly helping him stand and find his equilibrium. He felt as if someone had shoved him under water, fuzzy and disoriented and feeling like he was moving through liquid, even in a still state. "I haven't felt like this in….years," he slurred, when gravity decided to tilt the room.

"I don't know if I want to know the reasoning behind that statement, but you're going to have to work with me Marshall, you've got to stay awake. If you don't…I don't want a new partner. I'm really attached to the one I've got," Mary rushed, trying to balance his tall frame and keep herself level as well.

He smiled. "Well…let's try that walking thing then."

There were sixteen steps from the basement to the first floor. Sixteen steps that took them sixteen minutes. Marshall felt like he was in a dream where he was climbing to the point where he fell, ending in his muscles seizing and jerking him awake. When he told Mary this, and that the falling sensation while dreaming was called a hypnic jerk, and was due to something called hypnagogia, the transitory process between sleeping and waking up, she'd asked why Sam hadn't hit the part of his head that dumbed him down a little more, which only lead Marshall to start in on the various functions of each brain hemisphere and what they controlled. Mary had tuned out.

The door was locked, but it wasn't exactly rocket science getting out. The house was relatively small for three men, and glancing around the sparse furnishings and floral patterned wall paper, Mary had a sinking feeling that it wasn't their house at all. She decided not to think too much about that. "Marshall, hold on. Sit here, I'm going to grab some things we may need," she eased him into the closest chair, then dashed into the kitchen, grabbing for a leather bag she figured the three stooges used for deer hunting or…well, whatever it was they particularly enjoyed hunting. She shuddered once again. They hadn't bothered to take the car, which left both Marshal's cell phones, identification, and any way out with it. The one day she left her gun in her purse, she thought bitterly. But by no means would a gun fit in an ice skate. At least the geniuses had bottled water; she took four bottles, granola bars, and a box of crackers; a pocket knife, two flashlights, a pack of matches, some antiseptic and Tylenol from the bathroom, and put the bag over her shoulder. "Let's go."

Even the best laid plans had their pitfalls. The moment they eased outside, the first realization hit them hard. The temperature had dropped severely, and they were in the middle of…nowhere. The tiny house was surrounded by a collection of tall trees, but the cold and their lack of appropriate outerwear now that the men had had their way in slashing the layers of clothing to hell, left them quite conveniently…screwed.

Mary bit her lip in worry. Marshall felt the bitter cold to his bones. "We don't have a choice."

Mary nodded. She couldn't recall being cold, being in snow or knowing what winter was. The closest she'd come was when it was so hot outside that the air conditioning was left running for three days straight, down to nearly fifty degrees, skyrocketing her bill. This was new to her. Her chattering teeth clicked harshly, but they had to move.

Haley stared worriedly out the frosted window for the hundredth time in the past few moments. Brows furrowed, thoughts racing. They weren't familiar with the area. They didn't know how bad back roads got, how high drifts stood, even how to get back from the lake. Andrew looked at his wife, the same concern written in his eyes, but for both their sakes, not in his voice.

"They are fine! It's snowing; they are either laying low in a neighboring house or being towed here as we speak. I'd say they booked a hotel if they didn't already have a hotel booked," Drew said cheekily.

Her grim smile was twitched with an unbelieving laugh. "Yea, I'm sure that's it."

She looked back out the window once more. _I hope._

Thirty slow minutes later had gotten them far enough into the woods beyond it. Far enough, but they'd have to stay low until they found help. That was starting to look dismal, as the only other standing building was a half condemned shed, burned long ago and left to be a gutted eyesore in the middle of a forest. They had to stop.

Mary had chattered on, trying to keep herself from shivering to death, or thinking of anything but freezing to death in this middle of nowhere place.

"This is like that sick, twisted movie that Kevin Bacon played in where he kidnapped that lady and her kid…or Deliverance."

"Both of those took place in the summer, you do realize that right? They were on boats. On water. That was moving," Marshall said with a grimace as they stumbled over a brush covered log. They scoped out the tiny structure, checking for any particularly loose roofing and anything to prop as a mock door against the wind. Nothing.

"Ice, water, boats, who cares and either way it's still going to kill us. And if it doesn't, the three hillbilly stooges will."

"It's encouraging that you can still find humor in our life threatening situation," Marshall said dryly. Mary rolled her eyes, settling Marshall gently into a corner of the crappy shed, sitting down close to share any warmth.

"We wouldn't even be in this situation if Stan didn't think we were clinically insane or something," she muttered darkly. Marshall, boy scout that he was, went about igniting a match to some of the drier sticks and timber they'd found around the shed as well.

"You," Marshall said from where he sat awkwardly next to her. "Not me. _You._ I was shot and I survived it, I saw the shrink for that much already. But you, Mary…you don't have a coping mechanism. You are pure fire and energy and anger—it helps and it hurts you. I see that. That untapped passion…that needs an outlet…or at the least a two week vacation."

She stared at him crossly, the fire he spoke of growing in her. "What are you saying?" she bit out.

"That if you don't harness that energy, you're going to get yourself killed."

She snorted sarcastically. "If I wanted your opinion I would have asked. My life and how I live it is none of your business. I'm sorry I can't be as smart or zen or happy or perfect as you want to make me out to be! I'm sorry that you have me on a pedestal I can't live up to! If you hadn't noticed, I don't really get to meet people's standards; not with a house to keep standing, a drunk of a mother who tells me that the only time I'm happy is when she's failing and how much I ruin her life every day, and a sister to keep out of trouble…I don't have time to care for anybody else, you're right, Marshall, I really don't, Jesus, I don't have time to care for me! All I need to do is keep other people alive. That's my job. I come last on a long list—and I always will." Her voice had risen so high in her fit that it cracked at the peak and fell from there. The strain of tears that caught at her throat couldn't be held back. If there was anyplace to run, she would have hidden away, pushed it to the back of her mind and pretended that nothing had happened. But there was no chance of that. Instead, pride injured, she turned over, facing away from him. The cold was making her tired, all she wanted was to be back in New Mexico, doing her job, and pretending vacations didn't exist. Pretending nothing between them had changed, and that it would all go back to normal like the hopeful ideals of a child. Her quiet tears turned into miniscule ice drops. It was almost fitting, she mused. An ice queen.

Marshall sighed, feeling like she'd, once again, drawn her own conclusions and jumped the gun on how to react. There were eight million different ways he'd meant the comment, many different ways in which it could have been taken, and Mary had figured it the complete opposite way. As always. The fire burned low, not emitting much light or heat, but helping even the slightest bit.

They were in undefined territory. But it was dangerous, literally and emotionally, to act on anything. The cold would kill them, and it was not a way in which he wished to die. Instead, without asking, he put his arm around her freezing form. She tensed, but her options were slim. She caved into the warm body next to her. Tomorrow they would fight more, both knew, but for now they had to live to see that day.

When he woke the next morning, it was snowing. Their corner of the old shed was the only untouched area. He flexed his fingers, trying to get the blood flowing and the feeling back. Mary was curled into him, tiny and cold to the touch. He shook her lightly, as she had done back at the "Stooges" house. She barely moved.

Worry coursed through him. "Mary? Mary come on, you've got to wake up for me."

Her eyes flickered ever slightly. Her usually pink lips were a faintly tinged purple. He had to get them anywhere but here. She wouldn't last much longer in the bitter temperature.

"What the hell man!" Lou screamed when emerged from the basement. "The bitch and the man are gone!" He whirled on the youngest brother, who visibly flinched from his position in the seat Marshall had vacated the previous night. "This is your fault! You idiot you didn't lock the damn door?"

"If you hadn't noticed I was bleeding from a certain vital part of my body dude!" Jimmy lashed back.

"Hah! Like it's been of any use since…well, ever! Leave the heavy lifting to me and Sam, you just sit back and watch," Lou yelled darkly.

"Now boys," Sam started calmly. The pair glanced in their eldest brothers direction. A slow smirk graced his aging features. "They want to hide, we can play seek. They want a hunt, that's what will give them."

Barking from the backyard echoed ominously as Sam's vision narrowed and his younger brothers slowly caught on. "This can still be fun."

I would continue, but I'm super crunched for time. AHhhhh! The crazy packing, and working still, and hurricanes are coming?? Wish me luck and I will try to finish sooon I promise! I know I'm horrible and I wanted this to be a MUCH longer chapter…but review and I shall try!


	5. Long Is The Day

"Mary," Marshall grabbed for her cold, huddled form on the moth eaten couch where he'd left her to find supplies, speaking urgently

A/N: I have no excuse for this being posted sooooo long after I started this, but in my defense, art school is not easy, moving in sucks, and life is hectic. I'm probably going to post immediately, and I am very sorry for the wait! Thanks to all those who have patiently and impatiently stood by it! "Lovely Traces" lyrics by Krystal Meyers.

Long Is The Day

_I was consumed  
By a life that I made  
Destined to crash  
Beat up and bruised  
By the flashbacks of my own past  
I tried to hide away  
Till I heard you say,_

_Lovely traces fall behind you  
Turn around and you will see  
Lovely traces to remind you  
Everything that you've been through  
What it took to get you to me_

It hurt to breathe in the icy air. It made her lungs feel as if she had swallowed pieces of glass and was being poked relentlessly by the jagged edges. Through half open eyelids she saw Marshall's terrified expression as he called her name. She wanted to sleep. Didn't have the strength to walk or respond. She felt her body fall away, realizing seconds later that Marshall had picked her up, burying her face in his chest.

"I'm going to find us a place. I'm going to find help," he said aloud, but not directly to her. It quickly became his eerie mantra, and quickly became less reassuring the more it was repeated.

XOX

"Do you really think this is going to work?"

"Jimmy, what did Lou say about leaving the heavy lifting to us?" Jimmy shrunk back, seeing Lou smirk. "We've been doing this a lot longer than you. You're still a little green, so relax and watch your two brothers at work." The three stood outside, coaxing the dogs into a terrorizing state.

Green was a correct observation. Jimmy was the weakest link. But that was why they were training him. All three knew the consequences of confessing. They had yet to be caught, and who would suspect three brothers living in the house a 'distant relative' left them in a will. They were productive members of society. A different kind of society.

The chain link door was gently unlocked. Its captive monsters eagerly tore out of their cage, released to find the prey.

"Game on, boys."

XOX

It was dark in the woods, trapping the cold air and blocking out any light or warmth from the afternoon sun. Marshall was exhausted, his arms weak under Mary's weight and his legs numb and nearly useless. Halfway through his trek he swore he heard dogs, but nothing seemed real anymore.

When he saw the tiny cabin at the bottom of a drop off, he thought for a moment that he was hallucinating. It took another twenty minutes to figure out the safest way to it from the jagged cliff he stood on. His shoes were waterlogged from snow and thin ice that he waded through; finding that getting to the cabin required crossing a shallow stream. He couldn't feel the water though; his legs to prickled by goosebumps and fear to notice.

"Almost there," he whispered. "Almost there."

The door was locked. He gently sat Mary down; most people, even if they didn't plan on returning, left a key under a mat (there wasn't one), or above a doorframe. The latter deemed true, lodged in a piece of wood that jutted ever so slightly from the frame. He hoisted Mary back up, locking the door once more behind them.

No lights, but that was understandable. He laid her on an ancient couch in the far corner of the cabin, rushing around, immediately, in search of anything useful. Sleep sounded like the best idea in the world to him at the moment, before he realized that it was probably the worst possible idea; Marshall ran back to Mary. He needed to know she was okay, needed to know that she was alive and would wake up.

"Mary," Marshall grabbed for her cold, huddled form on the moth eaten couch where he'd left her to find supplies, speaking urgently. He pushed the hair out of her face with his own stiff fingers. "Mary, look at me!" She was shivering so badly he could see the vibrations emanating from her cast shadow in the dim light. Her eyes were still only half open, dazed and lost.

XOX

Haley's distress had increased ten-fold by the following day. Marshall would have called to let them know what was happening, if they were snowed in or broken down somewhere. But there was no word on her friend, and Andrew could not calm his wife's fear when even he was starting to believe the worst.

Feeling it a last ditch effort, Haley dialed the number on the back of the card Marshall had given her years ago. It rang four times before a flustered man answered, clearly irritated at being disturbed. Haley swallowed thickly, trying to keep her emotions at bay.

"Is this Stan?"

XOX

The cabin was tiny and he'd been lucky to find matches and a few candles half burnt in a drawer of a bureau by the entrance. His only continuous thought was of his need to get her warm, get her out of the devastatingly frozen woods. The heat of his flame-licked palms roused her conscious; her sluggish, half dead thoughts leaned into the warmth, craving more.

She was near hypothermic, and he'd have to go about bringing up her temperature carefully. "Mary, I will be right back," he stated slowly, now in search for blankets or pillows or anything that would add heat. The cabin had few hiding places; if the three men found them, they wouldn't need to worry about warmth, he thought sardonically, taking in every nook and cranny. A bathroom; a shower that drizzled and little else when he turned the knob, but the stove was able to be coaxed into boiling water. It was stocked with towels though, which he pulled a stack of five from. The bedroom had a queen size bed, and the covers lay invitingly untouched on the coiled spring mattress. An old collapsible clothesline, weathered with use and age, would hold their wet clothes.

"Mary," he whispered when he'd surveyed their camping grounds, guiding her face to him. She looked at him, but didn't register his familiarity. He was afraid. "You've got to stand, come on, you can stand."

He pulled her gently to her feet; her legs gave. He hooked his arms under her shoulders and knees, opting to carry her the short distance to the bedroom. He set her on the edge of the bed, pulling off shoes and soaked through socks and snow weighted jackets. Hesitating, Marshall realized he hadn't thought through his plan this far in, but he knew that between being modest and being alive, they would both vote alive. Discarding his own boots and jacket, he followed quickly with his three shirts and useless jeans. He pulled Mary up, with little help on her quickly fading part, peeling the layers of clothing over her head as well. Goosebumps welled on her arms, down to her stomach. He removed her jeans as well, and would have laughed at the boxers he'd jokingly bought for her only a few days previously if the situation weren't so terrifying, leaving them both in undergarments.

He pushed her towards the bed, pulling back the covers, and following once she'd lain down. Her eyes were closed, and he hoped her lucidity wouldn't return until morning…all things considered. He wound his body around hers, rubbed her arms with his hands, sparking any kind of warmth. He dared not sleep.

Mary was numb everywhere. Tiny pinpricks prodded her skin without mercy, and she thought she'd shiver out of her own soul. Never had she felt so unendingly and bitterly cold in her life. Broken images filtered into her mind of what had happened. One minute they were walking along an old hiking trail, the next there were men in a crappy pick up truck, asking directions. She knew something bad was going to happen—sensed it to her very core. And it had. They'd smacked her head into the driver's side mirror…and from there she'd very little recollection of following events.

Something twitched near her forehead. Opening her eyes slowly, she saw a chin and neck; the breath of a person causing her hair to flutter gently. Arms were caging her against the person, but she felt extremely warm. She didn't move. Clothes were strewn about, a mess of snow soaked, water logged coats and gloves…and everything else she'd remembered wearing too. Now she was alert.

Where was she? And who was…with her? The person jumped in their sleep, and she calmed down, only slightly when she realized it was Marshall. What had happened?

"Marshall?" she asked voice rough and raspy from the cold. She was sick, she was sure. "Hey, Marshall."

Mary didn't want to move, but reached a hand to touch his face. He groaned at the disturbance. Both had snow burned cheeks and iced over lashes. Her hair was still damp and limp, and touching his forehead now, she felt the beginnings of a fever, and knew that she wouldn't be fairing much better soon. They had to get back to the city.

Marshall instinctively pulled her closer, feeling her shift, a near impossible feat as their bodies were already aligned. She wasn't a prude, and was not one for modesty if it came down to saving her life, but for Marshall to go such great lengths on the pretense that she would kill him when she woke up, last night must have been bad. He opened his eyes, silently looking into hers.

She stared up at him for a long while, a quirk of a smile touching the corner of her lips. "You're okay," he observed more than asked, his voice as snow bitten as hers.

"Yeah, I'm okay. You did good," she whispered. It had been awhile since she'd felt the urge to cry, but in this moment, she'd never been more grateful for him.

"I was afraid," he replied, honestly. "You weren't…you weren't you. You weren't responsive, you were so cold," Marshall ran his hand down her back, recalling her empty eyes and the prickly goose bumps that had resided.

They returned as he spoke. She buried her head in the crook of his neck without hesitating. She'd analyze later, when the cold didn't play tricks on her mind and psycho hillbillies weren't trying to kill them.

"Marshall, we have to get back to the city. We have to get help. We can't stay here."

"I know."

"No one misses us. We've only been gone for a week. Not even Stan expects us back…and the only people that know I'm in New York are the two most incapable drunks in the world," she swallowed the lump growing in her throat. Everything was going wrong.

"It's just you and me Marshall."

A long moment later he said, "I know."

She hugged him tightly.

XOX

"Where are my people?" Stan roared the moment he stepped off the plane in New York and into the offices of an old colleague who'd become a private investigator.

"Stan, great to see you, if it was under better circumstances I'd buy you a drink. But so far we have a car found near a lake; your people's ID's weren't inside, neither were their weapons, but that could also mean they left them at the hotel they were staying in. The woman that called you is the owner of the car; she said they left almost three days ago without any word past the fact that they were going ice skating."

"I just want to know if they're alive—if they're alive, I would then like to know why they're missing in the first place," Stan said tightly. The place was like an ice desert, and the climate shock alone could kill them.

"Stan…there was blood at the scene," his friend said quietly. Stan paled.

"Carl," he said firmly. "Find my people."

XOX

In and out, they opened their eyes and fell back asleep. Neither had moved. She couldn't recall what day it was, let alone how long they'd been in the cabin. The cabin felt safe, and she didn't have any desire to leave it despite the fact that staying would kill them. Leaving could kill them. And the hillbilly brothers certainly could as well.

Marshall's breathing had become strange in the past day, and it was frighteningly slow. They were both clammy and the air was thick with illness.

She put her ear over his heart, listening to the comforting rhythm. It wasn't steady as she wished it was. Tears ran down her feverish cheeks.

"Marshall, if we make it out of here alive, I swear, you and I will have a long chat about what this is. If we survive this, I will fight for us…I need you with me. I promise, if you fight, if you just stay alive," Mary whispered, more to herself than her unconscious partner before letting herself drift off once again.


	6. And Hope Is Just A Stranger

A/N: I know my story has been on hiatus for quite some time: my classes have been eating me up and I wish I had time to slow down—such is the life of a college student. The commercials for (and the fact that April is quickly approaching) the premiere of season 2 have refueled my anticipation, and I know I can't put off writing anymore—I feel horrible for the insane wait, so I'll be trying to finish this up between my finals. (She Is The Sunlight, lyrics by Trading Yesterday)

And Hope Is Just A Stranger

_If loving her is a heartache for me  
And if holding her means that I have to bleed  
Then I am the martyr and love is to blame  
She is the healing and I am the pain  
She lives in a daydream where I don't belong  
She is the sunlight and the sun is gone…_

He knew it was a mistake forcing them to take a damned vacation. He knew they would go together. He knew trouble followed the two of them, and now they had it in spades. Stan was a fool for thinking otherwise.

As if they hadn't had a rough enough year, as if the casualties, emotional and physical and literal, hadn't satisfied the bitch Fate could be. He would not forgive himself for losing them.

"Stan! Stan, we might have a lead!" Carl's hyperactive assistant yelled across the small office.

"This better be good kid—I have no time for 'might,'" Stan bit out, a withering look cast upon the desperate assistant who shrunk at the older man's forceful anger.

"Cut him some slack Stan, this is legit," Carl's grim voice said from the door.

XOX

Time had no significance for the pair locked away in the cabin. Mary had felt Marshall slip into complete unconsciousness awhile ago; she didn't dare think the word 'coma' for fear she was correct, fading mind or not. At some point she'd taken to singing a soft lullaby her father had sung when she'd had the chicken pox, the lyrics escaping her for the most part.

She couldn't stay and wait for help. Help was not coming. Hope was a distant luxury without meaning. If there was one thing she'd learned, waiting for people was futile; if you wanted something done, you had to fend for yourself. She had to leave, because she wouldn't wait for Marshall to die.

Not like this.

And not when she would be following closely behind.

"Marshall," she whispered gently, pushing the damp hair from his forehead and trying not to cry when she felt the terrifying heat emanating from him. She had to go. "Marshall, listen please. I'm going to find someone. I have to find help. We'll be fine, I just need to find someone, alright?"

Her voice broke and she wanted nothing more than to stay, especially if he wouldn't last as long as she prayed. Mary pressed her ear back to his heart—the comforting beat was slowing. If he was conscious, she was sure he'd be able to dictate every stage of this debilitating illness.

She slipped out of the bed, joints aching, muscles screaming their protests with every movement. The clothes were long dried, and she went about grabbing an extra blanket and the backpack she'd taken with them from the three brothers' home. If his fever broke, if he woke up and she was gone, she thought idly as she searched for a book and pen in the cabin, he would need assurance that she'd gone for help. Finding a battered copy of The Odyssey—and wondering who in their right mind would read such a book on vacation—scrawled a note in jittery explanation of her reasons. Delicately she folded the note, placed it on her pillow, tucked the comforter around his form, and brushed a soft kiss to the corner of his lips.

She told herself it wasn't goodbye, with one last backwards glance, as she locked the door behind her, leaving her partner. It wasn't—it couldn't be.

She knew she was only fooling herself.

XOX

"Have those damn dogs picked up anything?" Lou demanded restlessly. Jail was not an option. Not again. Petty theft was bad enough, and of his two brothers he'd been the only one ever caught by the police. Sure, as a whole the trio hadn't been figured out—but he'd had the sense that the couple they grabbed were smarter than they'd first assumed. Distinctly cop-like; and the woman was skilled with her impromptu weapon of choice. He grinned at Jimmy's discomfort; it was his fault he'd attempted to get a jump on the elder two—weakling. Their only upperhand was their knowledge of the area, but in this bitter winter they had to let the dogs do the work. Two days had passed since Sam set them free. All they could do was wait.

"Patience Lou. The longer this plays out, the better chance they're already dead and we won't have any clean up to worry about. The dogs will be back—they always come back."

"Whatever; I just hope this gets done with—I'm bored," he mumbled irritatingly.

XOX

"Their were four blood types on the ice skate blades," Carl recited from the report he received from the lab. Stan clenched his fists and shifted his weight. "Mary Shannon, two unidentified types we couldn't match in the database, and our hopeful hit: Louis Trader. Trader has a pretty decent rap sheet: petty theft, grand theft auto, two restraining orders for physical harassment, and other minor and major infractions. According to his next of kin, Louis has two brothers. We ran the two other blood types against Louis's and found similarities. Samson and James Trader, oldest and youngest brothers."

Stan felt a small iota of hope blossom.

"There's more. That lake where we found your Marshal's car? Three couples have turned up missing in the area surrounding it in the last six months. Only two bodies were found—our guys clean up good—whatever they do, the couples never see it coming. But more recently a woman reported her great aunt missing, Muriel Greer, 85, lives just outside the area the Trader boys tend to hunt in."

"You think they got rid of the woman and are using the house…which means my people can't be far from there. Tell your assistant to get me a map with all of the buildings used or still standing in that radius, a search party, and a helicopter—Carl, Mary left the skates on purpose; she didn't have to slash all three of them, but I'm sure she figured they'd need to go to a hospital and there would be blood evidence of all of them. She bought them time; and Marshall…Marshall is brilliant…"

"Stan…that was nearly five days ago. I just want you to be prepared. Smart or not, cold is cold, and your people aren't built for cold."

"Maybe not, but my people are built for survival, and standing around while they freeze to death isn't getting us there any faster!"

XOX

If a desperate person could see a pool of water in the middle of the desert, Mary wondered as she blinked against the winds hateful roar, could one see a fire in the depths of the snow? Probably not, but the idea of the reverse mirage and the realization that she was more numb that either hot or cold, scared the Marshal greatly. But she kept going, knowing every stop meant Marshall was one step closer to death.

That couldn't happen—Mary had made herself a promise, and she wanted to see that promise through. Now she was bargaining with a God she didn't put much stock in, hoping for a miracle, or at least a passing car.

No such luck.

And as a wave of vertigo hit her like a freight train, steadying herself against a tree, she knew she was running out of luck as well.

She started to hum the lullaby.

XOX

"Listen!" Sam hushed his brothers. The dogs were howling. The midday sun was a lovely happenstance—someone was on their side. "Let's go boys, we've got ourselves a little bit of walking to do before the days out. Lou, grab the gear; Jimmy, time to see what you're made of. Game on Marshal's," Sam laughed quietly, gripping the photo ID's of the couple. He'd chosen not to divulge the acquired information to his brother s quite yet…government agents were a delicate commodity. They could demand what they needed and would be free soon.

If there was one thing Sam knew, the government, as high and mighty as they thought they were, did not like sacrificing their own people…

XOX

"This is Muriel Greer's home," Carl circled the dot with a red Sharpie. "This is the radius we're looking for U.S. Marshal Shannon and Mann," a green circle was placed around the forested area. "There is an old fisherman's cabin in the middle of the woods—if they got this far, we may hit a stroke of luck, but I want the entire forest swept people—dead or alive, there are two agents we need to find."

Carl glanced out the window—night was closing once again, temperatures plummeting. "Good luck Stan."


	7. But I Have Promises To Keep

A/N: I'll have you all know I'm totally procrastinating my finals and writing this. All for you. (Just A Little Girl, lyrics by Trading Yesterday)

But I Have Promises Too Keep

_Cause all of this is all that I can take  
And you could never understand the demons that I face  
So go ahead and bat your eyes and lie right to the world  
For with everything you are, you're just a little girl_

Crying will not help. Crying won't stop the cold wind, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, or the fleeting images of 'what if' that flashed angrily in her mind. Crying wouldn't save Marshall. It was a useless, utterly unimportant, horrible feeling of failure and fear and hate that she would die in the desolate, white wonderland, while her best friend died in a broken house and a foreign bed. Alone.

She'd never felt so alone.

And each time that thought crossed her mind, the tears came, and she had to talk herself down. Stopping was failure. Crying was failure. Dying was failure.

She had to live to save him.

XOX

They'd traipsed through the dense forest, following Desi and Grey—their best hunting dogs—for nearly a mile and half before the scent went cold. No pun, they thought, intended. Snow was harder for the dogs to track through—and a small creek ran parallel to where they were now. Jimmy was becoming as restless as Lou had been earlier in the day. Lou was eerily calm as he surveyed the surrounding area. Sam stood complacently, arms crossed, staring up at the sky as if the world were his own domain.

"Are you going to star gaze or find these two?" Lou questioned roughly. Sam smirked.

"We're running out of time boys. Listen," Sam commanded. The brothers looked up; a distant whirring sound echoed in the night. "They found us—which means they know our routine. The woman knew what she was doing. That helicopter shouldn't take longer than thirty minutes to get here, so lets get moving."

"But how are we supposed to find them—the trail's cold?" Jimmy asked, green with fear again.

"I don't know—if you were lost in the woods, would you sleep outside and take your chances—or, by chance, stop in a cabin?"

Lou grinned. The fisherman's cabin hadn't been touched since the previous summer. The water, while not exactly flowing, was a sheet of ice that the pair had to have walked through to get to it. Thus, they realized, ending the trail.

"Let's get moving. We need leverage."

XOX

Haley paced. Andrew stared at the wall, trying not to think of the horrifying possibilities. Stan said he'd bring them back, fine and alive. But the proof wasn't there yet. Unable to worry and work simultaneously, she'd tried to join the search party with the police. Stan and Andrew both vehemently denied her protests. Stan said it was dangerous. She knew that. She wasn't stupid. But the mental pictures she played left her with the solitary thought that this was her fault. She pushed, she gave them the car, she knew they didn't know where they were going.

Her mother was running the bed and breakfast while she stayed resolutely in the police station. Andrew nervously chewed his lip and checked his cell phone ever few seconds. They were a wreck. Waiting was torture.

There was nothing they could do.

XOX

Stan was anxious. Carl stayed behind, at the small town police station, waiting to call in any more back up necessary. They had the ambulances on the ready, and the search party was already combing the 5 mile radius. The house was empty of people, but they'd found more blood and cages in the back allowed for dogs in the area. All this had been radioed to Stan by the sheriff, and Stan awaited the landing just outside the forests perimeter.

He hoped they weren't out of time.

XOX

The dizzying numbness hurt.

One moment she was standing; the next, her face burned with the snows touch. Her foot had caught a thick tree root just outside the small gap in the woods. A tiny clearing.

Mary placed her hands in the snow, pushing herself upwards.

She tried. Nothing happened. Her face fell back against the slushy ground. She didn't mean to give up. It was too much. Nothing cooperated. She failed.

Her eyes fluttered. She was so tired.

"I'm sorry…"

XOX

Lou sighed, clearly disappointed. "I was really hoping for a chase."

Jimmy cringed, grateful that the 'chase' was not going to be a part of the deal. The Cabin was easily accessible. One swift kick and the door, sagging with years of sitting in the elements and misuse, caved. The male Marshal was either asleep or dead, and none of the brothers had touched the body to find out which opinion was correct. The woman was missing.

"Maybe she wondered off—they aren't familiar with the area. She couldn't have gotten far Sam. There's a hell of a wind chill out there, and if she's even close to being in the same state as her friend then our problem is solved." Lou observed, noting the beads of sweat the rolled off of Marshall's forehead.

"Lou, she hacked away at the three of us with an ice skate blade—I'm guessing she's faring better than her partner," Sam snapped.

"Why do these two matter Sam?" Jimmy asked suddenly. Sam glared at his little brother fiercely.

"Because, alive or dead, they are our ticket out."

"What do you mean?" Lou queried, just as skeptically as Jimmy.

Sam held up the IDs. "We got ourselves a pair of US Marshals, my brothers. That's why."

Jimmy looked ready to pass out—nearly as white as Marshall.

"Lou, is our Marshall Mann still alive?"

Lou was still stunned, but shook himself out of it. He pressed his fingers to the man's neck, searching for a pulse. It was there. Just barely. Lou nodded.

"And now, gentlemen, we have a hostage."

XOX

Someone was stroking her hair, softly, encouraging her to wake up. But she was warm here, comfortable where she was. She heard voices. Whistles. Echoes. Her eyes opened, taking in the bleary white that surrounded.

The crunch of boots in snow, of someone running, brought her around. She knew the voice. She wanted to call out. She tried. No sound came from her throat.

"Mary! Marshall!" the familiar voice reverberated in the small clearing.

Stan! It was Stan! Mary clenched her fists. How did she get him to see her?

Whistle. That was it. She pulled at her glove, finding it harder with her frozen joints. She put her two fingers to her lips, jittery, and managed to gather enough air to give a stuttering wisp of a sound. Dammit. They would never hear that. She wasn't that good at it. Marshall tried to teach her.

She'd brought the backpack. She grabbed for the flashlights, which had yet to be used, and flicked them on, angling both in different directions to attract attention. The second thing she grabbed was the matches. She tore at an remotely dry scrap of fabric on her body, striking a match, one by one, and attempted to keep the scraps burning as long as possible. Hopefully they would get the message before the stooges…

XOX

Stan saw flashlight beams everywhere he turned. They bobbed in the darkness. But his eyes caught something strange as he turned in a circle, calling his two agents as loud as he possibly could.

One light was not moving. It was…sparking?

"Guys! What's over there?" Stan demanded.

Three of the men in the search party glanced to the solitary beam. Confused, they drew their guns and cautiously moved toward the small bursts of light.

Stan saw it first—the shock of blonde hair under a blanket. He pushed past the prudent officers, screaming her name.

"Mary! Mary!"

Her head lolled to the side, an attempt to face him. "S-Stan?"

He'd never before wanted to cry with relief. Stubborn, obnoxious, biting and bitter as she could be, she was a daughter he'd never had.

"We've got life flight on standby," he laughed, relieved. But looking around, he realized a flaw in the plan. "Mary, Mary, listen to me," he said as she started to fade. "Where's your better half—where is Marshall, Mary?"

"…I have a promise to keep…"

He knew it was all he was getting. She was hypothermic. She was exhausted. And if this was the delusional state Mary was in, this far from Marshall, willingly, then he feared what had happened to her partner. She would not have left him unless it was bad.

Why, oh why, could the powers that be just let the pair be?


	8. Like Falling In A Dream

A/N: HEY! I'm finally back! I really hate myself for making you all wait so long—it's been a crazy end of the quarter, and I'm still recovering from it I guess. I know you've all been waiting, and it's been like, forever, but I can finally finish this thing up soon. I'll try to update ASAP, because I don't think this is the end just yet. Keep reading, be patient, and thank you for the reviews! I think I needed to be re-inspired by the show, and since it's finally on…well, it should go a little more smoothly. (My Skin, lyrics by Natalie Merchant)

Like Falling In A Dream

_I need the darkness,  
the sweetness,  
the sadness,  
the weakness,  
ooh I need this.  
I need a lullaby  
a kiss goodnight,  
angel, sweet, love of my life  
ooh I need this  
Well, is it dark enough,  
can you see me?  
do you want me?  
can you reach me?  
or I'm leaving...  
you better shut your mouth  
and hold your breath  
you kiss me now,  
you catch your death  
oh I mean this...  
oh I mean this.._

He heard the sound of footsteps in the cabin. Three sets of heavy boots. He felt the dense cold air, felt Mary's absence. He knew she'd gone somewhere, but he could have made it up in his mind. In his dream. Everything was twisting, turning into strange, magnified storylines. Ice skating with razor blades, dogs shooting guns…it was wrong, and he knew it, but it made sense in the dreamworld. He was starting to understand Alice's Wonderland a little bit better.

He also knew he was sick. And that if he didn't get out of this place soon, he wouldn't get to see Mary again. If Mary was alive. If they hadn't gotten to her first.

He had to live for her.

He promised her once before that he wouldn't die, and he'd be damned if the flu killed him now.

If the world outside of his mind didn't hurt so much, he would have laughed. She would demand he not die just so she could kill him herself if he didn't survive this.

Somewhere close to him, he felt the teasing breath of someone whisper darkly in his ear…

"It's time to shine…"

XOX

"Take her to the hospital now!" Stan commanded, frustrated. Marshall's whereabouts were a mystery—Mary could barely form cohesive sentences, let alone tell them a location. "We have Mary—we just have to keep looking. He can't be far from her!"

"Sir, she won't let us strap her down," one of the paramedics called out, nearly as irritated as Stan sounded. Mary fought the two men, refusing to sit still, refusing the bandages and attempted soothing words. They threatened her with sedation—only causing further problems when she bit the paramedics hand.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Mary, let them take you to the hospital! We will find him. I promise you we will find him. You have to stay alive for him. You have to be okay first Mary."

She shook her head defiantly. "S-stan," she whispered, pulling him by the sleeve of his heavy coat.

"What is it Mary?" Her eyes were wide and clear for the first time—glowing in the eerie white snow. Her arm was outstretched, hand pointing somewhere deep into the woods. He followed her persistent, fearful gaze, followed the angle to the tips of her fingers.

"Oh…"

XOX

Everyone was silent.

Every_thing_ was silent.

Frozen, like the earth beneath them.

The sound of sixty guns clicking into place broke the sudden silence—Mary only heard the sickening click of one.

Sam stood resolutely, holding a frail, death like Marshall harshly by the neck, holding him like a puppet. Mary nearly threw up. Sam's gun was buried deep in the side of Marshall's head; Marshall's weak grimace brought a wave of tears to Mary's eyes.

Stan stood slowly. The two paramedics tending to Mary seemed to forget she was even there.

"I'm guessing you're the ringleader?" Stan yelled to the eldest brother. Mary realized the other two stooges had fanned out, and wondered what their plan was. She wanted to worry about the other two, but Marshall was all she cared about—eyes fixed on the horror.

"You guess right. Now, if you want your U.S. Marshal here alive and breathing and still in one clean piece, then I suggest all your search party drop their weapons before his head has a new hole in it."

"What do you want Sam?" Stan asked, already knowing the answer.

"I want a free pass from jail, I want your helicopter, and hell, a couple million dollars sounds fair too—get me that and he gets to keep breathing. Think too long and I can't promise a damn thing."

The stillness remained. No one released their weapons. No one dared breathe. Mary's gaze stayed fixated on her helpless partner, making every attempt to keep standing. She felt for her gun, remembering that it was back in the bed and breakfast—seemingly ages ago since they'd checked in, fighting as usual. Sam wasn't paying the Marshal in the snow any mind. Hell, Stan and the paramedics had long forgotten she was there. The darkness helped her hide, even in the moonlit snow banks.

She had two choices.

She could hide and wait for the deal Sam demanded to go south. Or she could hide and wait until Marshall collapsed, and it wouldn't matter if Sam had a gun or got his deal.

Those were two choices she couldn't live with. So she created her third option. Clinging to the hope that Marshall would be okay if she could just get to him, Mary inched through the icy white blanket, scouting the dark corners for signs of the other two stooge's movement, finding none. Whether that was a good thing or not, she didn't have time to dwell on.

She would not let Marshall go out like this. She wouldn't let him go out at all, if it was up to her. And she was going to make it clear to Stan that they would never, ever, under any circumstances be leaving the desert of Albuquerque again.

When she came to the small grove of trees that lined the opening to the meadow she'd emerged from earlier, where Sam held Marshall now, she realized that back tracking was going to be slightly more…complicated than she'd originally planned. Mary had never taken the phrase 'tread lightly' as literal as she did now. One false movement and the cover provided by the thick trees would be blown. The trees weren't as spaced apart as the ones within the forest. The thick cluster of half dead bushes and heavily weighted trees were tangled and twisted together. Barely breathing, she removed the heavy coat the paramedics had wrapped her in, removed their gloves, and kept her mouth shut, daring her teeth to chatter as she crawled through the dense trees.

The stinging, tingling pain shot through her fingers; stars collided in front of her eyes, swimming in the numbness she felt everywhere. Her hair caught in a branch, yanking her head backwards, scraping across her cheek. She bit her tongue to hold back the yelp.

Mary ignored the shouts echoing between Stan and Sam. Kept her goal set on Marshall. Fought the tears from the scratches that marred her face. She was in position. She had an endgame. She had sixty guns pointed at a man with one, her partner, and currently, herself. And if she wasn't careful, she'd have sixty bullet holes imbedded in her body.

She crouched low, making her way forward. Mary had to get Sam to release Marshall before she made her move. He seemed to be waving his weapon around in gesture to whatever Stan was saying. She remained a fair distance away, observing his pattern. Every answer he received, he would twist his wrist in a circle deftly, before replacing it against Marshall's temple. He was getting tired, lazy with the trigger. When his next answer came, she decided to strike.

She fingered the syringe in her hand, the sedative the paramedics had forgotten in the sudden hostage development. It would go to good use. Just not in her. She watched the gun move away from Marshall's head, angled in the opposite direction, and made her move, stabbing the syringe into the side of Sam's neck with an animalistic scream. Sam yelled, releasing Marshall and pulling the trigger simultaneously. The shot fired harmlessly into the night sky as Mary held Sam in an awkward headlock, needle still in his neck. He twisted, trying to punch any part of her he could reach.

Chaos ensued as the two missing Stooge's fired into the meadow, disrupting the calm with gunshots and screams. Mary struggled to keep Sam facing forward as the drugs began to kick in. Suddenly, they were both falling. The stars swam in front of her again. Real stars mingling with the beams sparkling in her vision. Like falling in a dream. The hypnagogia, the hypnic jerk that Marshall explained to her only days ago. The sensation of falling in a dream.

Marshall. She had to get to Marshall.

She pushed the now sleeping Sam off of her, blindly searching for Marshall as bullets zinged off of trees and the helicopter. When she hit his foot she felt the gulping sobs take over, pulling herself as close as possible. His eyelashes were iced over, skin ghostly, cold to touch. As was hers. She stroked his cheek, curling into him, protecting as much as she possibly could as the gunfire blazed on.

As the coldness took root deep inside her worn, aching body, as the energy finally dissipated, she felt him shudder, and then nothing. Nothing but the darkness.

Nothing but falling in the dream.


	9. Beauty From Pain

A/N: Thanks for the support! I've had computer complications lately, so I'm sorry this is posted later than I wanted. Thanks to everyone still with my story too! I may be wrapping this up soon, I'm thinking maybe one more chapter after this one. **And to comment on the engagement: I refuse to believe that the engagement is real!!! It CAN'T be! EWWWWW! I'm just going to pretend that it didn't happen…it's alllll in the producer's head….** (By Your Side, lyrics by Tenth Avenue North)

Beauty From Pain

_And I'll be by your side  
Wherever you fall  
In the dead of night  
Whenever you call  
And please don't fight  
These hands that are holding you  
My hands are holding you…_

Her body was being pulled apart. Pulled away from itself. Her eyes were sealed shut. Her throat felt as if someone were massaging it with sandpaper. Her fingers twitched against something cool, something metallic, but would only stretch so far. A cord around her hand? She couldn't feel her other hand. Fear shot down her spine.

She heard a chirping sound in the background spike suddenly.

"Shhh, you have to calm down Mary. It's okay," said a nearby voice. It wasn't familiar. It wasn't a voice she could easily recognize, but it was female. Her eyes fluttered behind weary eyelids. She wanted to see. She wanted to know about…

"Marshall?" she tried, desperately. The female squeezed her hand. Mary's heart monitor jumped unevenly again. She couldn't breathe. He couldn't be dead. Not after what had happened. Marshall was not dead. She'd kill him if he was.

"Mary, Mary you have to calm down. You don't want the doctors to have to knock you out again."

Again? What was this person talking about? She wanted to know about her partner, dammit, and she wasn't telling her anything!

"Mary, I'm ordering you to take it easy," came a second voice, one she was very familiar with. "You have us all really worried here."

Stan. It was Stan. Maybe he would tell her.

"Marshall?" she tried again. Effects of drugs seemed to be kicking in once more. Apparently she hadn't calmed down enough for the nurses.

"She should be fine in a little while. Her body is still adjusting. Let her sleep," came the voice of said nurse. Mary wanted to scream at the nurse. She didn't want to sleep anymore.

XOX

This time, her eyes managed to open. Staring blankly up at the atypical white hospital ceiling. How long had she been here? What day was it?

Marshall. She still didn't know where he was. If he was okay. If he was still…she couldn't finish that train of thought. She looked at her hands—all ten fingers still in place—nothing but severely chapped, red fingers stared back at her. She'd been sure they were frostbitten. She wriggled her toes as well, nudging the blanket that covered her. All ten toes. She touched her face; lacerations and scratches from the tree branches stung across her cheeks. She was black and blue all over—arms, legs, chest. She felt feverish but not awful.

She was okay.

She wanted Marshall to be okay. She saw Stan pacing outside the room, on the phone with who she could only assume was Eleanor. He looked exhausted, older than his years.

She needed to find Marshall. She looked at the IV in her hand, pulling the tape off, followed by the needle. She grimaced at that. No matter how tough she was, needles were just…creepy. Using the metal bed rails, she managed to pull herself into a sitting position as gently as possible. So many bruises all over.

It was only then that she noticed there was a curtain running down the middle of the private room. She never remembered having a roommate before. She pushed herself off the bed, gripping the rails and side table for support. Her legs were unsteady and shaky. She winced at the tingling sensation of muscles waking up, making her way towards the pale blue curtain.

Grasping it firmly, she pulled it back, all the fear and pain and exhaustion coming out in tears of relief. Marshall was asleep. Alive. Okay. He had more tubes in and out of his body than her. His skin was still pale, still feverish, still blue in places. She carefully reached for the hand closest to her, finding all cold fingers intact. He was intact. He would be fine. She couldn't have been happier. Mary wondered when they'd gotten to the hospital, how long they'd been here, how long they'd been asleep.

Before the nurses would come back and realize she'd pulled all of their monitors and contraptions out of her, she pushed back the covers on Marshall's bed, carefully climbing into it. They could yell at her later. Like she'd done in the snow, she curled into him, hand on his chest, above his still beating heart.

And she slept well for the first time in days.

XOX

The next time she awoke, it was because someone was pulling her hair. Not obnoxiously, not like when she and Brandi fought when they were kids, but enough to know that someone was running their fingers through her well worn bed head. She shifted, but hit a wall.

A wall that groaned.

Her eyes flew open, taking in her partners grimace.

"Oh my god, Marshall!" she half whispered, half yelled, throat parched and stuck. She pulled him into a tight, awkward hug instead, causing him to tense.

"Ow, ow, Mary…can't breathe," Marshall coughed. She released him immediately, taking in his appearance again. Still pale, but his color was starting to return. She felt the knot of tears before she realized they were already falling down her bright red cheeks. "Hey, we're okay," he whispered, and somehow it sounded whimsical and curious and questioning all at the same time.

She nodded. "Yea, we're okay."

"I stayed…for you," he stated, broken by a cough, staring into hazel eyes fogged with confusion. "I fought."

Her eyes narrowed in thought, trying to recall what he was referring to. Sure, she'd threatened him before, but he'd had a bullet lodged in his chest, in an abandoned restaurant in the middle of nowhere. But this time…

Mary's eyes widened as the pieces fell into place.

_Marshall, if we make it out of here alive, I swear, you and I will have a long chat about what this is. If we survive this, I will fight for us…I need you with me. I promise, if you fight, if you just stay alive._

At the time, she hadn't thought past the moment they were in, snowbound in a cabin with nothing but rabid dogs and crazy murderous brothers outside the tiny dream world. At the time, she thought he was unconscious. She opened her chapped lips to reply, but a nurse decided to check in right then—pulling the moment away from them.

Mary sighed, irritated.

"You two are quite famous around this ward," The young woman said as she moved about, adjusting monitors and checking the read outs of machines that Mary had no clue as to what each was. She seemed unfazed by the duo sleeping soundly in the same hospital bed. "Maybe infamous is a better term."

"Why's that?" Mary questioned suspiciously, deciding to play along.

The nurse stopped, smiled. "Well, I heard the paramedics say you were difficult, but I had no idea what _kind_ of difficult they meant. When they tried to bring you two in, you may as well have been handcuffed together. Don't get me wrong, Bill is pretty strong, but even he couldn't get you guys to let each others hand go. Never heard anything like it. Had to put the two of you in the same room just to calm you down. Thought you would scare off the whole floor if we didn't," she shrugged, as if it happened all the time. "Rest up, by the end of the week you both should be good to go."

A long while after the gossiping nurse had disappeared, Mary finally chanced a glance at Marshall's face. He hadn't said anything, and she knew he'd drifted off to sleep again, but a small smile tilted the corners of his lips. This had made them different. Their lives were on the line everyday they helped hide a witness, but that they could die simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong second…that left her feeling more sick than she'd felt in the last week…because she had no control over a death like this.

"We have a lot to talk about, you and me…we have a lot to talk about."

XOX

Stan had observed his Marshal's for the past few years, watching as they grew, watching as they fell down and made mistakes. They broke rules, defied orders, forgot their place, tried to give up, lost faith in something bigger, saw the bigger picture, sacrificed selflessly, protected and served, fought to hell and always came back, a little bit smarter, a little bit tougher. He'd forgotten to observe them as people, though. And now he knew he'd missed what had started the moment he introduced the spitfire and the smart ass.

He'd missed it, until today.

"We rarely see something until we stop looking for it."

Stan smiled. "Yea, that sounds…about right."

Haley nodded. "I'm glad they're safe, I'm glad they found each other."

He glanced at Marshall's friend, eyebrow raised. "Me too."

XOX

_Two days later_.

"You have _got_ to be _kidding_ me!" Mary shrieked. Marshall cringed. Stan sighed, anticipating the outburst long before he walked into the room.

"Look, you two—"

"Stan, let me get this straight—we're in this mess, this hospital, right now, because we were _forced_ to take a vacation due to extreme job related stress—and now, after being attacked, abducted, nearly frozen, held hostage and shot at, we have to take _more_ vacation time! Who the hell comes up with these mother f—"

"I actually have to agree, she makes a valid point Stan. We should never be forced to take a vacation again," Marshall interrupted, throwing Stan a glare. Stan huffed, throwing his hands up in surrender.

"I don't make the rules! Look, when we get back to Albuquerque, I'll let you two take paperwork with you, how's that? You don't have to leave the state. You don't have to leave your respective houses, you just can't be in the office."

"Can't we just go back to work?" Mary whined. Stan crossed his arms, as if to scold a defiant child.

"I think we lose," Marshall commented dryly. He'd never wanted to see his desk more than he did now. Hell, he never wanted to see sand and feel the scorching heat as badly as he did now. But the extended vacation had its upside. He'd heard Mary at the cabin…he'd heard her request, and he had fought for her. Yes, as unnecessary as the extension was, it could be a healthier version of the previous one.

"Pack it up kids, we're going home."


End file.
